


Payback

by pipermca



Series: Black on White on Black [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Edgeplay (sort of), Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rebooty Call, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-11-19 14:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipermca/pseuds/pipermca
Summary: Prowl cannot recharge, and calls for assistance from Jazz. Later, Prowl returns the favour.





	1. Mission Accepted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any confusion on the title... Once I realized there was another chapter to this, I had to rename it. :)

Staring at the ceiling of his quarters was not helping him fall into recharge. Nor was shifting positions on the berth so that his door wings were above him. His tactical computer did not care what position he was laying in; it just kept churning away on the data it had received earlier in the cycle.

“Lights, thirty percent.” The lights in Prowl’s quarters came up dimly, giving him just enough light to move to his desk to retrieve a datapad. Working would not help his situation, he knew, but it would give his hands and mind something to do until his tac-net decided to cycle down for the night.

A groon later, the tac-net was still chewing away on the data. Fatigue weighing on him, Prowl checked its progress and groaned. Only 41% complete. At this rate, he would still be awake by morning.

There was one thing that could make the tac-net pause long enough for Prowl to fall into recharge. Hopefully, Prowl sent a low-priority ping to the Autobot’s third in command. If Jazz was recharging, the page would not disturb him. But if he was awake –

::Hey, Prowler! Whatcha still doin’ up?::

::I could ask the same of you. I cannot recharge. I do hate to ask, but -::

::Hang tight, I’ll be there in two kliks.::

Relieved, Prowl busied himself organizing the datapads on his desk and setting out two cubes of energon. In less than the promised two kliks, the door of his quarters beeped. Prowl answered it and smiled at Jazz’s broad face. “Thank you for coming over,” Prowl said, stepping aside to let Jazz into his quarters. “I know it is quite late.”

Jazz let the door close behind him before sweeping Prowl into his arms and running his digits over the tactician’s faceplates gently. “Is your tac-net giving’ ya grief again?”

Gratitude washed over Prowl that Jazz knew exactly what the problem was. “Yes.” He guided them to the couch to sit. They each took a cube of energon before settling back on the couch, Prowl comfortably nestled under Jazz’s arm.

“Have ya talked to Ratchet about your tac-net not idlin’ down when it oughta?” Jazz asked, massaging Prowl’s shoulder gently.

Prowl harrumphed into his energon. “No. I have not had the time to visit the medbay in the past stellar cycle.” He glanced up at Jazz, who was looking down at him sternly. “I promise to mention it at my next maintenance appointment,” he added, resignation colouring his voice.

“If it gets worse, go sooner,” Jazz ordered. Prowl pulsed acquiescence through his field, and Jazz relaxed slightly. “So what’s got it so worked up this time, anyway?”

“The new intelligence that your team collected on the last mission has me concerned.”

Jazz made a confused sound. “But that mission was a bust! We didn’t get anything except some requisition orders. In our rush, we thought they were troop deployments,” he grumbled. “That’s what I get for takin’ new recruits with me.”

“Yes, they were requisition orders. However, combined with other information that we have, those requisition orders are beginning to paint a very interesting picture.” Prowl leaned his head on Jazz’s shoulder. “The dots are all there. I just need to see what image they create.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon,” Jazz said, nuzzling the top of Prowl’s helm. “In the meantime... Is there anything I can do to help out?”

Setting his cube down, Prowl turned Jazz’s face towards his and ran a digit down his visor to his nose and across his lips. “I am certain you will think of something, and make it your new mission,” he said.

With a quiet rev of his engine, Jazz crushed his lips against Prowl’s. Prowl’s mouth opened, letting Jazz’s glossa in to dance across his. Pulling him away from the back of the couch, Jazz’s hands slipped up Prowl’s back struts, dragging his digits heavily around his door wings’ hinges.

Prowl moaned into Jazz’s mouth and arched his back at the touch. Pulling one of Prowl’s lips through his dentae, Jazz chuckled. “You’re runnin’ hot tonight, love,” he murmured, ghosting his lips across Prowl’s jaw and down his neck.

“It is the –“ Prowl gasped as Jazz nipped at his collar. “The tac-net. But – haaa... – your presence is exacerbating the issue, I believe.” 

“I love it when ya pull out yer thesaurus to talk dirty to me, Prowler,” Jazz laughed, kissing his way to the other side of Prowl’s helm.

One of Jazz’s hands dipped into a seam in Prowl’s back armor, prying and sliding to find the sensor node that he knew was there. The other hand slid up the bottom of Prowl’s left door wing, causing a shudder to ripple through Prowl’s entire frame. When Jazz found the senor node he was looking for, the shudder became a jolt that pressed Prowl against Jazz.

Prowl smeared his hands across Jazz’s chest, running his digits around the racer’s headlights and being rewarded with a stutter from the Polyhexian’s fans.

Jazz kissed his way down Prowl’s chest, lavishing attention on every seam and armor gap. When his head drifted low enough, Prowl placed a hand behind Jazz’s helm and tilted it so that he could reach one of Jazz’s sensor horns. His glossa traced around the top of the horn, an area he knew was replete with sensor nodes.

Jazz groaned loudly. “Ah! Prowler, yer gonna... Slag, gimme a klik.” Jazz pulled away from Prowl, a wide grin on his face. “I’m here to get you off, right? So let me do my job, you aft.”

Prowl’s fans had roared to full power on Jazz’s groan. He reached out to pull Jazz close to him again. “You ‘getting me off’ does not need to be mutually exclusive with you overloading, yourself,” Prowl said, nibbling back up Jazz’s helm towards his other sensor horn.

“Ah! Slag!” Jazz jerked away again before Prowl’s mouth could touch his other horn. “Fine.” With the strength and grace of a trained assassin, he flipped Prowl’s frame around lengthwise on the couch and straddled his lower legs in one movement. His hands pressed Prowl’s shoulders back against the arm of the couch as he grinned down at the Praxian with a predatory glint to his visor. “We’re gonna do this my way.”

Staring up at Jazz with bright optics, Prowl tried to shift his position. Jazz released his shoulders slightly. “Yer wings aren’t getting’ pinched, are they?” he asked, the growl suddenly gone from his voice.

“No,” Prowl replied. He managed to wiggle them slightly to demonstrate. “They are fine, but –“

“Good.” Jazz threw his weight into the tactician again and drew one hand down Prowl’s shoulder. Prowl hissed as Jazz’s digits trailed down his side and slipped into the gap in his armor at his hip. The cover for his hardline port slid back at Jazz’s first touch. “Now, you’re just makin’ this too easy,” Jazz murmured, running a digit gently across the exposed sockets, drawing a whine from Prowl.

Jazz slid back up Prowl’s frame to nibble at his lower jaw once more, careful to keep his sensor horns tipped away from Prowl’s mouth. Unspooling his cord from his own hip port, Jazz slid the plug into its place on Prowl’s hip with a click. He sent a quick burst through the connection, causing Prowl’s back to arch, pressing his chest into Jazz’s.

Pawing at his own cord, Prowl pulled out a length before Jazz’s hand grabbed it. “Let me, lover,” Jazz murmured, pulling the cord from his hand. Sitting up, Jazz stared into Prowl’s optics as he deliberately ran his glossa down one prong of Prowl’s cord and up the other.

Prowl’s vocalizer crackled with static before resolving into another loud moan. “Oh, Primus, Jazz.” As the sensation faded, he realized that Jazz had allowed Prowl’s cord to retract back into his hip port. He looked up at Jazz, his field coloured with confusion. “Jazz...?”

Jazz held a digit against Prowl’s lips to quiet him. He sent another string of low pulses though the hardline connection, eliciting whimpers from Prowl. Jazz released his other hand from Prowl’s shoulder from where he had it pinned, and wove his digits into Prowl’s. “I told ya. I was called here for a task, and I’m gonna do it. I can feel how tired you are, Prowl,” he murmured. “You assigned me a mission, and I accept.”

Trying to concentrate through the current Jazz was maintaining, Prowl frowned up at Jazz’s blue visor. “But I... Jazz, please, you do not need to –“

With a smirk, Jazz interrupted with, “You can make it up to me later, ai’ght?” Then he sent a blaze of power through their connection.

The surge battered at Prowl’s processor, his charge building deliciously and inevitably higher. Scrabbling at Jazz’s back struts, Prowl was dimly aware of Jazz’s low laugh as the spy scraped his digits up Prowl’s chest, across the surfaces of his sensitive door wings, and down his back to rest on his hips.

He rode the wave of pleasure as Jazz’s glossa slid up his jaw to his chevron, ending with a firm nip on the tip that caused his processor to stutter. And he basked in the adoration and lust that Jazz let seep into his field, wrapping around the Praxian like a cloak.

Pulse after pulse, Jazz coaxed a quiet keen from his lover that built slowly in volume. Prowl’s optics flickered as his charge built even higher, but he forced them to stay online so that he could keep his gaze fixed on Jazz.

The last thing he saw as his overload crashed over him was Jazz’s face, his visor bright and his mouth parted in a panting smile.

***

Prowl came back online slowly, fatigue still weighing on his systems. A comforting weight pressed down onto him. He onlined his optics and looked up at Jazz, who still wore the smile he’d had before Prowl had collapsed into a soft reboot.

Jazz nuzzled Prowl’s chevron gently. “So did that do it for ya?” he asked.

Listening for a moment, Prowl exvented and leaned into Jazz’s caress. “Yes. The tac-net is back into idle. I should be able to recharge now.”

Jazz propped himself up with one arm. “I would’ve carried you to yer berth while you were out, but yer too heavy for me. I figured it wouldn’t be too romantic for me to drop ya on yer aft while you were rebootin’.”

“Thank you for sparing me that indignity,” Prowl said. He struggled to sit up, and Jazz rolled off of him enough to allow it. The racer gently pulled his plug free of Prowl’s socket. Catching Jazz’s hand, Prowl leveled his gaze at his visor. “You did not need to refrain from overloading yourself, Jazz. That was not what I intended when I called you.”

“S’all right, Prowler,” Jazz lilted. He helped the Praxian off of the couch and led him to the berth, settling in next to him. “You,“ he said, touching a digit to Prowl’s nose, “were my main concern tonight: getting’ your processor rebooted and your tac-net quiet enough for you to recharge.” He wrapped his arms around his lover, tucking Prowl’s helm under his chin. His field dripped with contentment. “It ain’t a contest and I ain’t keeping score. Makin’ you happy makes me happy.”

Prowl mulled over Jazz’s words. As he finally, blissfully drifted into recharge, he decided payback was definitely in order. Next time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfic in - wow, going on thirty years. :) My writing chops are pretty rusty, so I'm using this as a warm up for a longer (related) fic I'm working on that's already at about 10k words (eek!)...


	2. Games Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl figures out how to pay Jazz back.

With varying duty schedules, it was not always easy for Prowl and Jazz to plan time for just the two of them. A groon here or there was enough time to get together for some fuel and catch up on recent happenings, but being able to spend a dedicated chunk of time together generally only happened once every few orbital cycles. And the war conspired against them constantly: Prowl might need to dedicate time and energy to analyzing Decepticon activities, or Jazz might be sent away on an urgent mission.

So when it did happen that their schedules lined up perfectly, they took advantage and made the most of it. “Date night,” is what Jazz called it, even if happened in the middle of a day cycle. They took turns planning ahead what they would do. 

On this particular cycle, it was Prowl’s turn, and Prowl wanted to play a game. “Or two,” he added with a small smirk.

The tactician had dipped into his stash of expensive high-grade, and poured each of them a cube of the glowing pink liquid. Prowl capped the bottle and placed it back on the shelf before turning to Jazz, who was lounging on the couch. The spy watched his lover with a relaxed expression. “So, Prowler,” he drawled. “What’ll it be tonight? We haven’t played Primes and Drones in a while.” 

“Before we pick a game, I have a proposal to make,” Prowl said. “A wager, if you will.” He did not bother suppressing the twitching of his door wings; Jazz was proficient in reading them even when he did try to stifle their movements. 

Jazz tilted his helm, his smile becoming calculating. “What kind of proposal?”

“I would like to make tonight interesting,” Prowl said. He fluttered his door wings seductively in a way that he knew made Jazz’s spark quiver in response. “Pick a game first… Then we can discuss terms of the wager.”

“Ai’ght, I think I see where yer goin’ with this,” Jazz said, a grin crossing his lips. He focused on the stack of games on the shelf behind Prowl before saying, “In that case, let’s play Clusters.”

Prowl pulled the game from the shelf and set it on the table next to the couch. He had anticipated Jazz selecting this game. Most of the games that Prowl owned were strategy-based games that he naturally excelled at, while the winning conditions for the games in Jazz’s quarters were all about luck or creativity. Out of all of Prowl’s games, Clusters was one that required a combination of intense strategy, memory skills, and dumb luck.

Settling next to Jazz, Prowl began setting up the board and pieces. “So, my proposal is this: for each combo that a mech gets, they can do something to the other player.” Prowl extended his field to touch Jazz’s, making it clear what he meant when he said “do something.”

Jazz’s field responded with a spike of interest and anticipation. “Something?” he asked. Then, with a cautious tone, “Anything?” 

“If there is an objection to an action, the game stops so we can renegotiate,” Prowl said, understanding the direction of Jazz’s questioning. He quirked an optic ridge at Jazz and added, “Also: first one to overload loses.”

Jazz’s faceplates cracked into a grin. “That works for me, with one addition,” he said with a chuckle. “So that things aren’t too easy: let’s make your door wings and chevron off limits, and same with my sensor horns.” He gently nudged an elbow into Prowl’s side. 

Prowl nodded. “I agree to your terms,” he said. Taking two pieces from the pool of spares, he shook them in his hands and then held out his fists. Familiar with the action, Jazz tapped his left hand. Prowl turned it over to reveal a piece with an aerial icon, while his other held one with a turbofox. “You go first,” Prowl said. 

Jazz hummed as he examined the board, and quickly picked out two matches. “One combo,” he said, turning to Prowl. “And I claim a kiss for my first ‘something.’”

Prowl leaned into the kiss eagerly, letting Jazz’s glossa drift against lips for a moment before the spy pulled away with a gentle tug from his dentae. He watched as Jazz placed another piece on the board, which triggered the pieces to shift to adjacent positions. It was only a moment before he picked out three matches. “Two combos,” Prowl said.

“Aww,” Jazz said, staring at the board. “And… slag. I saw a match I missed.”

“Distracted already?” Prowl asked, lifting Jazz’s hand to his and suckling on one of his digits. “That is one,” he said, leaning in to bite down gently on one of Jazz’s neck cords before soothing it with a brush from his lips after Jazz’s sharp invent. “And two.” Prowl placed a piece from the kitty on the board, noting with pleasure that Jazz’s fans had revved slightly under his touches.

“I just gotta focus,” Jazz said with a quiet rumble, peering at the board after the pieces shifted. After several moments, he took one match from the board. “Slag, I’ve got nothin’ – wait!” His hand darted forward and took another match from the board. “There’s my combo!” he crowed. 

Leaning over, Jazz heavily dragged the digits of one hand up Prowl’s back strut, from his aft all the way up between his door wings. Prowl shuddered when Jazz’s touch reached his middle back, and growled as his own fans kicked on. “I thought the door wings were off limits.”

“I didn’t touch ‘em,” Jazz said innocently, placing a piece on the board and grabbing his cube of high-grade to take a sip. “I didn’t say anything about the space in between.”

“Your adherence to the letter of the agreement rather than the spirit has been noted,” Prowl said as he examined the board. He spun it around to look at it from another angle, and then his hand moved to collect three matches. “Two combos.”

“Aww, come on! This is gettin’ ridiculous,” Jazz exclaimed, but he leaned slightly towards Prowl as the tactician turned to him.

Prowl brought a digit up to Jazz’s visor and tapped it. “Give this to me.”

Jazz gaped at Prowl for a moment before his mouth twisted into a moue. There was an audible click as he released the visor, and it slipped into Prowl’s hand. “Now you’re just playin’ dirty,” the spy said, his pale blue optics narrowing slightly and a small smile settling on his lips. 

“Consider it payback for the wings,” Prowl replied evenly, setting Jazz’s visor aside. He did not mention the strategic value in removing the visor: without it, Jazz could not monitor Prowl’s exact internal temperature, nor have it keep track of the pieces once they were shifted from view. Prowl, on the other hand, had no trouble tracking the pieces from move to move. “One.”

Prowl brought his hands up and dragged his thumbs up the side vents on Jazz’s helm, holding it steady as he brought his mouth to Jazz’s for a lingering kiss. Tilting the Polyhexian’s helm slightly, he dragged his lips down over his chin to his throat, stopping just above the flare of his collar with a nibble. “And two,” he said, sitting upright and placing his piece on the board.

Jazz sat still for a long moment, his fans whirring and his optics unfocused. Prowl suppressed a smile as he felt the desire building in Jazz’s field. “All right, ya slagger,” Jazz finally said, baring his dentae at Prowl in a leer. “Game fraggin’ on.”

Turn by turn, the matches on the board began to dwindle, but each mech was able to capture enough combos to slowly build their opponent’s charge. Jazz clawed at a bundle of cables tucked behind Prowl’s shoulder armour, causing the Praxian to vent heavily and grasp at Jazz’s frame. Prowl worked his digits into a transformation seam on Jazz’s inner thigh, sending a shudder through Jazz that caused the spy’s uncovered optics to flicker.

The air in Prowl’s quarters tasted of ozone and hot metal, and both mechs’ fans were running loud as Jazz placed another piece from the kitty on the board. “Yer turn, Prowler,” he growled. 

Making an effort to calm his processor so that he could focus, Prowl examined the board for a long klik before looking up at Jazz with a triumphant look. He reached out and collected matches from the board. “Two combos.”

Jazz made a loud exclamation, staring at the board. “Is that game?”

“Not quite,” Prowl said, predatorily. Bringing his hand to Jazz’s abdomen, Prowl slid it slowly up to his lover’s chest armour. Noting the brush of Jazz’s field, full of eager expectation, Prowl’s hand dipped between the bottom edge of his bumper and his internal workings to firmly tweak a sensor nodule he was familiar with. “One.”

A brief fizz of sparks cascaded through Jazz’s form as he jerked at the touch. Jazz cursed quietly as the visible energy faded somewhat, but his fans had roared to full speed once more. Prowl’s attention was aimed at Jazz’s hip, and the tactician let his satisfaction show in his field as he saw that the spy’s hip port had finally opened, unbidden. Before Jazz could fully recover, Prowl clicked his own interface cord into Jazz’s socket with a click. “And two.”

Jazz stiffened as Prowl sent a burst of data across the connection to complete the link, but Jazz allowed his firewalls to drop. “Speakin’ of playin’ dirty,” he managed to gasp, reaching out to grab Prowl’s knee as if to steady himself. 

Prowl narrowed an optic at Jazz and asked, "Do you wish to object to one of my actions?” When Jazz shook his helm vigorously, Prowl smiled and placed a piece on the board. As he watched the board’s arrangement shift again, he said, “Your turn.”

Jazz’s optics skated over the board glassily. “Jus’ need one more combo,” he said quietly. He left his hand resting on Prowl’s knee, his grip tightening every time that Prowl sent a small burst of data through the hardline to keep the connection open. “Prowl,” he hissed. “You are making it really hard to concentrate here.”

“If you wanted to restore your firewalls so you could concentrate, I would not stop you.” Prowl said. He was actually surprised that Jazz had not done this already, although it would make it much harder for him to achieve the goal he had in mind. He sent yet another spurt of sensation and emotion through the line, desire steeped with a willingness to compromise. 

Jazz shivered again, his field flaring with need. “I could,” Jazz said after a long full vent to steady himself. He lifted his helm for a moment to look at Prowl. “But it’s **you** ,” he added, as if that explained everything.

Maybe it did.

He pulled a single match off of the board and groaned, his engine stalling at another burst of data from Prowl. “That’s it,” he said. “I got nothing I can use here.” He placed the final free piece on the board.

The board shifted, and Prowl’s hand shot out to quickly collect the remaining matches. “Three combos, and game,” he said, turning to Jazz. “Now, as for my prize…”

Jazz leaned back on the couch as Prowl climbed to straddle his lap. Jazz’s field oozed with lust and relief. “I… aah… I got a sneakin’ suspicion you planned this whole thing from the get-go,” Jazz growled as Prowl began sucking and nibbling his way from the spy’s chest upwards to just under his chin. Jazz’s helm lolled back onto the wall behind the couch.

“Of course,” Prowl said, digging his digits into the gaps at Jazz’s waist just to hear him. “However, I gave you ample opportunity to object.”

“No objections here, Prowler,” Jazz said with a sharp invent as Prowl’s digits delved deeper to find a joint connection. He raised his helm as he brought up his own cord and slid along Prowl’s hip, seeking the tactician’s port. “Now let’s get on with this, ‘cuz I think I’m about to... Haaah...” Jazz exvented sharply as the tactician traced around another sensor node. “I’m about to blow a circuit here.”

Prowl took the cord from Jazz’s digits and held it loosely, sliding his own digits up and down the prongs. Jazz’s engine coughed, and he grabbed at Prowl’s waist as sparks danced between Prowl’s fingers and along his cord. “No,” Prowl said simply, forcing another burst of energy through the hardline and letting Jazz’s cord retract without plugging it in.

Jazz moaned as his helm rocked back again. “Whaddya mean, no?” Jazz managed to gasp, static crackling in his vocalizer.

Prowl adjusted his seat on Jazz’s lap, firmly holding him to the couch before he sent wave after wave of data into his lover’s processor. Jazz bucked up against Prowl with each surge, his hands scrabbling against Prowl’s back. 

“A deca-cycle ago, you told me that you do not keep track… That you do not keep score.” He spread his door wings wide, carefully monitoring Jazz’s charge, sending another burst through the line and keeping the spy on the razor’s edge of an overload for just a klik longer. “Well, Jazz,” he said, leaning forward to murmur into Jazz’s audial. “I do keep track, and I do keep score. And now… We are even.”

Prowl leaned in and claimed Jazz’s lips again with his, biting and licking as the charge licked and crackled between their frames. With a final surge of the [[ _need/want/desire_ ]] that had been building in Prowl all evening, the Praxian poured the sensations through the line into his lover’s processor.

His mouth muffled the scream that rose from Jazz’s vocalizer as his frame stiffened from the overload that shook him. Prowl kept his optics locked on Jazz’s, watching as those beautiful, pale blue optics brightened to a brilliant white, flickered, and went out. 

Prowl caressed Jazz’s cheek, running his thumb across the lips of his lover as his processor slowly rebooted. Shifting his weight in Jazz’s lap, he curled up, resting his helm on Jazz’s shoulder and listening to the soft thrum of Jazz’s spark. 

He stayed like that for several kliks, rubbing his palm in small circles on Jazz’s chest, until he felt the spy stir beneath him. Jazz hummed contentedly, and Prowl shifted again to mold his frame into the curve of Jazz’s side.

Wrapping an arm around Prowl’s waist, Jazz kissed the top of Prowl’s helm. “That was fraggin’ incredible, Prowler,” he murmured, his lips grazing Prowl’s chevron. “Thank you.”

“It was absolutely my pleasure, Jazz,” Prowl said, his field showing satisfaction.

“Just one thing, though,” Jazz said. Prowl looked up at Jazz curiously when he felt a curl of amusement from his lover.

“Yes?”

Jazz grinned down at Prowl, laughter dancing in his optics. “I let you win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I don't know how to play "Clusters." I spent far too long trying to come up with rules. :) It's a combination of Go, Solitare Mahjong, Gobblet, and something else that shifts pieces around automatically.


End file.
